


smells like teen spirit

by eg1701



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Bullying, High School Reunions, Homophobic Language, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, ex relationships, high school comes with it's own tag, i mean it's high school, yall remember high school? whew!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29014443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/pseuds/eg1701
Summary: Tom doesn't know why he's attending his high school reunion.Greg thinks his own might be alright.(i couldn't decide which high school reunion to write,,,,so why not both?)
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 22
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first cohesive and readable thing i've been able to finish in several days and it's...well it's something!

“This was a bad idea,” Tom said, the minute he stepped into the gym, which still smelled like sneakers and basketballs even after all these years, “Probably the worst idea you have ever had.”

“I’m pretty sure the invitation had your name on it,” Greg said, “It’s your high school after all.”

“This is your fault I’m sure,” Tom continued, “We shouldn’t have come here. The last time I spoke to some of these people I was dating Shiv Roy. How do I explain what’s happened since?”

“Dude,” Greg shook his head, “You don’t have to impress your high school classmates on your millionth year reunion.”

“Fuck you, first of all I’m not that old. Second of all, I don’t _need_ to impress them-”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’d _like_ for them to think I’m not a literal sack of dog shit after everything they probably read about me after the senate. It would be nice for them to not immediately think of that when they see my name.”

“This is a lot nicer than my high school,” Greg said, instead of commenting on it, “But that might have been because I spent all my time smoking weed in the bathroom. I didn’t like, utilize all of its potential, you know?”

Tom rolled his eyes, “I’m getting a drink. Do you want a drink?”

Greg followed him to the drink table, and Tom tried to match names and faces in his head. It had been a medium sized class, the sons and daughters of Tom’s upper middle class St. Paul suburban doctors and lawyers and professionals. A woman-- the name Jess came to mind, but he wasn’t sure-- smiled at him politely and poured herself a drink. She didn't stop to chat but that was fine.

“We had prom here,” Tom said casually. 

“Did you have a date?”

“Fuck no,” he took a long sip of wine, “I wasn’t, ah, well liked in high school? I think people found me annoying.”

“You are annoying.”

“I will throw this in your face. Wine all over that nice white shirt.”

Greg laughed, “I’m kidding. I love you. I love being annoyed by you. Did you date anybody in high school? What about that girl? Uh. Liz! That’s her name. Knew it was up in the ol' noggin somewhere. Is she here?”

“Yeah, Liz. We dated Junior year,” Tom glanced around again, “Her dad was a doctor. I don’t see her though. She married some accountant or something. I saw it online.”

“Come on. You had to have one friend. What about your, like, stock market club or whatever it was? You had to have one friend in high school Tom.”

“You’re definitely making me feel like shit,” Tom replied. It came out a lot harsher than he meant for it to. But the truth was high school had been tough. Tougher than he liked to think about in college, where he’d joined a frat and practically been given friends. The other students thought he was annoying, that was true. He’d been called a teacher’s pet and a suck up by half his class probably, and, now that he thought about, some of them probably could tell he liked men before Tom himself even realized it, “High school is a cesspool Gregory.”

“Right on man,” Greg nodded, “But like, I mean, me and like six other kids just smoked on all our off periods.”

“Not all of us were fucking stoners,” Tom rolled his eyes.

“I’ve told you before man, maybe if you smoked earlier you’d calm down a little bit.”

“Tom?” someone said, before he could quip back at Greg’s stupid comment. They both turned to look. These names came easy to his head-- Jennifer and Carter. They had been prom king and queen, had put this whole show on all four years, and were always the perfect couple. Tom was pretty sure it was Carter who had locked him in the locker room when they were freshman during gym class, but he couldn’t ever be sure and never really had the balls to find out.

“Hi Jenny,” he said, “You look great.”

She did. Though Tom thought it wasn’t all her, and that she’d probably had… help to look as young as she did. And whoever had done it hadn’t done a very good job. She looked like a fucking Barbie doll. Not that he was going to mention it.

“No Shiv?” she asked, glancing around like Shiv might pop out from behind the table, a bit of that familiar nastiness slipping into her tone.

“No. Shiv and I separated about a year and a half ago,” Tom replied, “I’m surprised you didn’t hear. It trended on Twitter for an afternoon. But no, this is my fiancé, Greg.”

Greg waved and Tom felt a surge of… something. 

He should never have come here to be among these people he had worked very hard to separate himself from originally. It wasn’t that these people were bad-- he was sure they’d grown out of it by now-- but the life he was building with Greg, the redo of marriage and happiness and _whatever_ did not hinge on what his old classmates thought about him.

“Charmed,” Jenny said, looking Greg up and down, “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

“Uh,” Greg said, “Maybe?”

“He was with you on C-SPAN wasn’t he Tom? When you had that little trouble with Brightstar Cruises?” Carter smiled, like a fucking villain in an old movie, who'd just managed to catch the hero, “That’s where we know him from.”

“I think the camera made me look shorter,” Greg commented, “Maybe that’s why you didn’t recognize me. I think it's supposed to make you look taller but I think that's a lie. My height is my most recognized feature. So that's probably it.”

Greg was trying. He was and Tom knew it. When they got back to the hotel he was going to sit Greg down on the bed and kiss him a hundred times and tell him how much he fucking _adored_ him for what he was doing, but right now he sort of felt like someone had cut out his tongue. Like he had suddenly become incapable of speech. Tom liked to think that he’d cultivated a very tough exterior in the years since he’d been a stupid teenager eating lunch in this cafeteria and playing basketball in this gym. He had done well, objectively speaking, for himself. He had been married to Shiv-- and for a moment it had been good. He had a good job, and a good paycheck and lived in New York City where he wore designer clothes and bought his dog expensive dog food and his fiancé expensive presents and lived the life that he’d fucking _dreamed_ of as a kid. 

“Oh yes,” Jenny said, laughing, “That’s where we saw you. You and Tom are getting married now?”

“Yes,” Tom said, finding his voice again. They were adults now, not kids loitering before classes started. He wasn't ashamed to , “We’re getting married.”

“Always knew you were a queer Wambsgans,” Carter said, and Tom thought that maybe he should have told him to _fuck off why don’t you, it’s the twenty first century?_ but evidently he’d used his allotted speech ability to confirm that they were getting married. 

“Dude,” Greg interrupted, “That’s pretty problematic to talk like that. Like it’s definitely not a good way to speak right? Little homophobic no?”

Carter and Jenny stared at Greg for a minute, like they weren’t sure exactly what to say, before Jenny excused them to go and mingle, and Tom downed the rest of his wine in a few sips. 

“Let me have yours,” he hissed, and Greg handed his wine over wordlessly. 

“Are you alright?”

“No,” Tom took a long sip, “This was a bad idea.”

“Why don’t we go?” Greg nodded towards the door, “Get some take out on the way back to the hotel?”

“We’re not going Greg,” Tom said, forcing himself to smile. He needed to get his act together. He had messed up a bit, not being able to talk to Jenny and Carter, but he could pull it together still, and show off his pretty fiancé, and talk about his divorce like he didn’t sob for two days straight after the papers were signed, and like none of it mattered. Like the bad things he’d done were just a funny little slip up in his past and that he was over it, and not like the guilt was still eating him alive sometimes, “We’re going to sit at one of those Goddamn tables and it’s going to be great.”

“Tom?”

“What?” he shot back, “Please don’t therapize at me Greg, I already pay someone to do that.”

“I love you. That’s all.”

Tom took a deep breath, kissed Greg quickly and smiled, “I love you too. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be a bigger dick than usual tonight.”

“I know. I forgive you in advance.”

“Come on,” after a half second on consideration, he took Greg’s hand and pulled him towards an empty table.

***

For the most part, people left them alone. A couple of people stopped just to say hello, though Tom wondered how many of them just wanted to see the fucking moron from the senate hearings in the flesh and how many just wanted to say hello.

“This food sucks,” Greg said, poking at his dinner with his fork.

“You can try mine instead,” Tom slid over his plate, “My stomach’s fucked, I can’t eat.”

Greg took a bite off Tom’s plate, “No this food sucks too. I’m telling you man, upper crust food is inherently worse.”

“You’re uncultured,” Tom replied, thankful for the familiar conversation. It was at least once a week that they had a conversation like this, about Greg’s unrefined palate, and Tom’s, at least in his opinion, superior taste in food, “That’s what it boils down to.”

“How many people still live around here?” Greg asked. 

“I’m not sure. I don’t keep up with many of them. College was better.”

“The fly guys,” Greg said thoughtfully, like he was commenting on a scientific symposium and not Tom’s frat brothers who sometimes crashed with them when they were in New York, and who, Tom discovered, Greg _really_ liked. They had first shown up in New York about three months after Tom moved in with Greg, unannounced while Tom was out running errands, and Greg had ordered pizza and broken out the beers and when Tom got home they’d already become best fucking friends over cheap pizza, cheaper beer, and a stupid sit com on TV.

“Yeah,” Tom chuckled, “Matt and Jonas. College was _better._ ”

“There you are Tom!” a female voice said, and both of them turned to look. Tom sent a silent prayer that he was not about to be further embarrassed by an old classmate. 

“Hi Liz,” Tom said, relieved.

She was still as beautiful as she’d been when they were sixteen, and the first girl who had ever really seemed to like him. They hadn’t really broken up, so much as broke apart. They’d been better off as friends, though the boy she’d dated a few months after him had told him not to talk to her while he was around. He hesitated, then stood up to shake her hand. She was wearing a smart red pantsuit and had her brown hair pinned back in a tight bun. He remembered how she’d always worn it loose when they were teenagers. 

“That’s silly,” she said, and threw her arms around him to hug him, standing on her toes to do so, “We’re not co-workers.”

She stood back to look him over, and he straightened his back so he didn’t look too pathetic. 

“Still handsome,” she smiled but it faltered after a moment, and her tone dropped, “I heard.”

“What?” Tom frowned, "Heard what?"

She leaned in a bit to whisper, “About the divorce. I’m sorry.”

“Ah,” he waved his hand, hoping it came across as casual as he wanted it to, “It’s alright. Liz, this is Greg. Greg, this is Liz.”

“Who’s this tall drink of water?” Liz said as Greg nearly tripped in his rush to stand up to shake her hand. Tom suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

“My fiancé,” Tom explained.

Liz raised her eyebrows, “What a lucky guy. When’s the wedding?”

“Next June,” Tom replied.

“Well I expect an invite,” she said, “But where are my manners. Tom, Greg, this is my husband Will. We met a year or so after college at a wedding of all places. Will, Tom and I used to go together in high school and he and Greg are getting married now.”

Tom and Will shook hands, and the couple joined them at the table. Tom felt a little better, with at least one classmate on his side. Liz was liked by _everybody_ so people would probably keep their nastiness to themselves so long as she was at the table.

“I’m a little surprised to see you with a man Tom,” Liza said, though it wasn’t unkind, mostly genuinely surprised, “No offense Greg.”

“None taken,” he replied, “I too, am surprised to see Tom with a man.”

Liz laughed, “I like you Greg. But Tom used to get picked on in high school by the football team for being gay. He vehemently said otherwise.”

“Heteronormativiy,” Greg replied, nodding, “It’s an epidemic.”

“I remember there were a few kids people thought were gay,” Liz shook her head, “Nobody wanted to hang around them you know? Afraid people would call them gay. It was tough, I’m sure.”

“Technically I’m bisexual,” Tom said, just because he’d been working on saying it, both to himself and to others. It had been a very long time coming for himself, and now that he’d finally said it, he didn’t want to forget how the word sounded coming out of his mouth. How much he sort of liked the word coming out of his mouth. How much his high school self would have shouted down the roof top if he even _suspected_ that Tom wasn't trying to hide it anymore. If sixteen year old Tom could see his future-- well Tom didn't know, exactly, what he'd have done. Probably been disappointed that he'd wasted all the time and energy to convince everybody that there was nothing to see along that line of thinking and now he was getting married to a man for all the world to see? 

But really, Tom could have never, ever, in a million years, envisioned this sort of future for himself in the first place. 

“I’m so happy that you’re happy,” Liz reached over and squeezed his hand, “And what a handsome fiancé you have.”

Greg blushed and Tom felt himself relax a bit. She had not mentioned Shiv by name, which was nice, as if she’d known it might be a touchy subject. Instead she’d whispered divorce like it was a secret, and somehow Greg wouldn’t have known. It was actually pretty tactful on her part.

The song changed, Liz looked up, “Oh Tom, come and dance with me. Will, do you mind?”

“Not at all sweetheart,” Will said fondly, “Greg and I will chat. Greg, are you a football man?”

“Uh. Sure?” Greg asked, which was funny, since he'd said then same thing when Tom's father had asked about Greg's thoughts on football.

Tom laughed, and left Greg to his own devices, following Liz onto the floor they’d cleared for dancing. 

“I just wanted to talk to you,” Liz said, politely putting one hand on his shoulder, and taking his other. He didn’t want to be too forward, so he put his own hand a little higher up on her back than he would have usually, “Without embarrassing you in front of the other two. I know you don’t like to talk about yourself so much.”

“You remember that?”

“You were my very first boyfriend Tom. And you were a good friend. I’m sad we lost touch.”

Jesus, she was _still_ that nice.

“I saw you in the senate,” she said, frowning, “That was tough.”

“Oh yeah.”

“And the divorce,” her frown deepened, “Greg knows right? About the divorce? I didn’t want to assume. But you should tell him if he doesn't Tom.”

“Shiv’s his cousin. Once removed or something. Don't worry, he knows. We ah, technically were together before it was even finalized.”

Her eyes widened, “Oh! I see. You seem upset.”

“I don’t know why I came here. Why I dragged Greg to see these people that didn’t like me in high school and don’t like me now. Will you be honest with me about something?”

Liz nodded. 

“Why didn’t anybody like me in high school? I won’t be upset, but fucking hell Liz, I have to know.”

She frowned, “I don’t say this to hurt you Tom, because _I_ liked you and I still like you, but I think people thought you thought you were better than everybody. You tried to get in with the teachers, tried to be somebody you weren’t. I’m not saying that’s not what people do, but we were all the same I think. All our parents made the same amount for the most part, we were all stuck here and not in some big international hub somewhere. I think you tried too hard to be someone you weren’t. Some prep school boy who was about two social rungs above us. When you got together with Shiv, I think you became what you had always wanted and what you always acted like you already were. That’s all. Does that make sense Tom?"

“Yes. That’s what my therapist says,” he muttered, mulling over her words. She was right, of course. He must have been terribly annoying to be around. God, if Shiv had known him in high school. he'd never have even gotten an audience with her, much less a first date, “That I put up a farce. Or whatever it is.”

She shrugged, “I don’t think it’s a bad thing necessarily, so long as you let it down sometimes around the people who love you. I wouldn’t want to live in New York. Too cutthroat for my taste. That didn’t give anybody any right to treat you the way that they did, don't get me wrong. They were cruel to you. I know they were. Regardless of how you were, they shouldn’t have called you names and things like that.”

“Yeah. Well, they were cruel to me in New York as well,” Tom said, thinking about Hungary, and all the dinners with the Roys, and DC, “I think something on my face must read I am a punching bag.”

"Of course not," she shook her head, "You're not a bad person Tom.

"Maybe." He hated when people told him that. When his mother told him he wasn't a bad person on her weekly phone call she insisted on having. When his therapist held firm against Tom's own belief that at some point, you had to have done enough bad _things_ to be considered a bad person. When Greg whispered it late at night when it felt like everybody else in the world was gone and it was just the two of them.

“But are you doing alright?” she asked, so Goddamn concerned he wanted to push her away right then and there. This was too much prying for his comfort. But he held firm. She wasn’t going to use it against him. She just wanted to know. She wanted to know because once they'd been together and she still cared about him. 

Tom nodded, “I’m alright. I am. I’m excited to marry Greg. I love Greg. I really do.”

She peeked around him, back at the table, “I think Will’s making him watch football. He’s a die hard Vikings fan.”

“Greg doesn’t even know how football works honestly.”

Liz laughed, “Come on. Let’s go rescue Greg from the last game’s recap. Will can get a little too excited when it comes to football.”

***

“Well your reunion is next year,” Tom said, flipping off the nightstand light back at the hotel, “And we’re going if I have to drag you there forcibly. I deserve to see stoner teenager Greg's stomping grounds after I had to deal with all those fucking people.”

Greg laughed, and pulled Tom against him in the dark, “Yeah of course we’re going cause like, then I’ll have a _husband_ to show off. Also I was well liked in high school, man.”

Tom elbowed him and Greg laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Greg's turn!

Objectively, Greg would have been fine never stepping foot back in his old high school again. He never considered himself cut out for academics, and had his half completed college degree to prove it. But Tom had made good on his threat, and when Greg’s invite arrived in the mail, he dutifully RSVPed for two. 

It was smaller than he remembered, the old cafeteria, where Greg vividly remembered being shouted at by his math teacher when she discovered him skipping. 

“Cute place,” Tom nodded approvingly, like it was a home show and not a semi-run down high school cafeteria. Greg had gone to private school until seventh grade, when, tired of his lackluster grades, his grandfather had decided he wasn’t going to waste anymore money on Greg’s education if Greg wasn’t going to put in the effort and threatened to pull his tuition if he didn’t get it together. 

Greg did not, in fact, put in the effort, and off to the local public school he went. 

Which was fine by him.

His mother was getting a divorce, his father all but vanished, and it was much easier to fade into the background here without his grandfather breathing down his neck and teachers who just _looked_ disappointed in his, as they liked to say, wasted potential. It was significantly better to manage mediocre grades and spotty attendance without all of that.

“Gregory fucking Hirsch,” someone said-- they both turned. Though Greg didn’t keep up much with the people from high school, he remembered them all well. Michael had always been reliable if you just wanted to sit and BS while avoiding a test in science. 

“Hey man,” Greg said, clapping him on the back, “What’s up?”

“Thought you were a fuckin’ hot shot in the states now?”

“Yeah right,” Greg laughed, “Uh, Michael, this is my husband Tom. Tom, this is Michael. We used to hang out together.”

“He means we used to get high in the bathroom during class,” Michael said to Tom, though Tom had not commented on anything about the phrasing at all. Greg nodded sheepishly. 

“It’s actually Hirsch-Wambsgans now,” Greg added, “Cause we got married. Tom and me.”

“Married and all,” Michael shook his head and whistled, “Come see the others. You’re fucking late.”

“Yeah traffic,” Greg said, taking Tom by the hand and pulling him along, “Traffic’s a bitch.”

“Didn’t realize you were so popular,” Tom muttered, “My own fucking prom king right here.”

Greg rolled his eyes, “Like, most definitely not.”

“I’m fucking with you,” Tom squeezed his hand, “I’m glad you were not the collective punching bag of your high school class.”

Greg chuckled. It was true that Greg had had friends in high school, for the most part. They all hung out together and loitered and were generally delinquents, and Greg had mostly gotten along with everybody. Mostly because at that point, he didn’t care about them. He kept most of the stuff about his parents close to his chest. He was sure anybody who even vaguely ran in the same social spheres as his mother knew about the divorce, but he didn’t want to discuss it with anybody, including his guidance counselor who pulled him into her office a week before the divorce was final to ask if he was alright.

He didn’t remember all of the conversation, be he was pretty sure he had replied that of course he was alright, why wouldn’t he be? And then left it at that.

Actually, if he thought about it, even though Tom was not the first person he’d been with, he was by far the most serious, and the only person he had ever fully discussed his parents divorce and the impact it had had on him.

Out the back cafeteria door they went, where the old crew-- that’s how Greg thought of them-- were gathered around the outdoor tables.

“No smoking on school property,” Michael said, pointing at Julia’s lit cigarette. 

“Get fucked,” she replied, “Greg! Who’s the Wolf of Wall Street guy?”

“This is my husband,” Greg said, motioning towards Tom, like there could have been another man she was referring to, “Tom. Tom, these are my friends from high school.”

“No shit!” Julia said. She hopped down from the table where she’d been sitting and came over to see them, “Oh he’s less intense looking up close. Cute in a white collar sort of way.”

“Thank you?” Tom said. 

Greg introduced them all and was introduced to several spouses of those who had married over the years, though Michael remained firmly, as he put it, a field player, and Julia seeing someone but, as she put it, it wasn’t serious enough for a high school reunion.

“So yeah,” Greg said, when they sat down. It was a little chilly out this late into the night, but he didn’t mind it so much. It reminded him of his own prom night, when they’d snuck out to smoke behind the building and shared a bottle of wine that Julia had swiped from some of the guys who were planning on spiking the punch, “Tom, this is everybody.”

“Greg, I didn’t think you were gonna get married,” Pierre, another of one the crew-- he had a very slight French accent, Tom thought, “You were just above Mike in the list of people who were not going to get married.”

“Yeah well then I met Tom.”

“Oh God that’s fucking sappy,” Michael said. 

“He’s a fucking sap,” Tom replied, looking, Greg thought, a little more at ease with them now. 

When Greg had given him the rundown on them during the car ride over, Tom was terrified that he wasn’t going to be very well accepted and Greg knew it. He’d voiced several concerns about their age difference, and his own squeaky clean high school days, and the fact that they had been hookups and the fact that Tom was, as he put it, shit at making friends anyway. Greg had tried to reassure him, but now it seemed he didn’t need to worry anymore.

“Oh yes,” Julia leaned forward, “Tell us all about sappy Greg.”

“Oh leave him alone,” Kathleen, the only other girl in the group said, leaning back against a man she’s introduced as her own fiancé, and who was evidently a few classes above them when they were at school, “Greg’s always been a sap. That’s not new.”

“Then I think you all need to tell _me_ about sappy Greg,” Tom pointed out. 

“Give me that cigarette Julia, I think I’m gonna need it,” Greg said, though he wasn’t even upset. He had talked a big game about his own reunion behind fine, but that was mostly because he was pretty sure a good percentage of his classmates probably didn’t even remember him. If they spent the whole time out here, that would be fine. 

She laughed, and passed it over.

“I shouldn't have brought you here,” Greg said, leaning back to put an arm around Tom. The concrete of the bench was cold, leaching through his pants and into his legs, but it was nice out here. He did have _some_ fond memories front his time, though they were all from his friends and school, and definitely not from home, where his father was spending his last days before he left making sure Greg knew exactly the sort of disappointment he was and his mother was desperate for someone to do as she asked-- her husband to make a fucking decision on leaving or her son to at least try a little bit at his classes, “You’re gonna get, like, so much ammunition.”

***

“Greg, come inside with me so we can steal some wine,” Julia said. It had been an hour or so maybe, Greg thought, and Tom, in his opinion was fitting in well with the others, “I need your tall form as a human shield.”

“Sure,” Greg stood up and patted Tom on the knee, “See you in a sec.”

He followed Julia inside, until she pushed him in front to part the crowd better. Julia, he remembered, had hit 5’ 2” at thirteen and never grew another inch. Inside they went and she placed Greg in front of the table so she could dig around for the wine bottles.

“So Tom huh?”

“Yes?” he replied, “What about him?”

“It’s not bad Greg, chill out. He’s nice. He just seems kind of uptight. Tell me something dastardly so I don’t think he’s… like that.”

“Oh,” Greg laughed, “We were fucking when he was still married.”

“Nice. Fuck yeah,” she said, setting a bottle of champagne on the table and ducking back down to look for another one. He knew that they probably weren’t supposed to steal whole bottles of liquor, since there were people who had planned the event and probably paid for the wine, but they did the same shit in high school, and he didn't really care, “White or red wine?”

“White,” Greg replied, thinking that was Tom’s preference. He really did think Tom was enjoying himself, as much as one could enjoy themselves at their husband’s high school reunion. Tom would have made it clear if he wasn't having fun, and since Greg knew him pretty well by now, he hadn’t done so yet.

“So you two were friends with benefits or what?”

“Something like that yeah. Mom hated it for a while. Cause. You know... that stuff.”

Julia popped back up and came around to Greg’s side, “Did you tell him about your dad? I know there was… something? I mean, it was _your_ right not to tell anybody when we were kids, but I think you should tell someone about whatever it was you didn't want to tell anybody.”

“I told him,” Greg said, “I tell him everything.”

“Good,” she squeezed his arm, “I worried about you.”

Julia had been his first friend, back when they were freshman, and it had been nice to have a friend, right away, when Greg knew he wouldn’t be very good at making them. It wasn’t like he didn’t have friends when he was younger, but he had never properly fit in with the trust fund kids-- then again, he hadn’t fit in well in New York wither. 

From there, he’d met the rest of them, and they’d become, as the principal had once called them, a band of godless maniacs. But that was just because Julia and Michael had once vandalized the statue out front and nobody had ratted on them. 

God, there was Tom with his squeaky clean high school record, and Greg who probably couldn’t have made it into college if his grandfather hadn’t pulled at least one string. He wasn’t necessarily embarrassed by it. He had pulled out alright grades by the time graduation rolled around, but he was by no means a scholar. Not like Tom and his MBA and his business frat and his degree hung up at their apartment. 

Tom always said that he never understood why Greg wanted to be with him. Tom would call himself a hundred things, too old, too fucked up, but really, Greg was the one who was undeserving in the end. 

“Plus we committed some felony destruction of evidence together,” Greg added. 

“Right on,” Julia nodded, “Stick it to the man. Were you sticking it to the man?”

“Well sure I guess. In theory.”

Julia smiled, “He really fucking loves you man. I’ve been watching him.”

“Why were you watching him?”

“He’s pretty,” she replied, “I can appreciate the male form Greg, even if I don’t find it attractive. I left that up to you in school didn't I?”

Greg rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious. Look, whatever, like, your dynamic was with him when he was married or whatever, it’s clear that he loves you and I’m happy for you Greg.”

“Thanks,” Greg said, mostly because he wasn’t sure what else to say, “I thought I fucked up. Falling in love with him right? ‘Cause he was married. But, like, then he agreed and married me and what the fuck right?”

“I missed your nervous dumb talking Greg. Come on, let’s drink this wine we didn’t buy. Grab some cups would you?”

Greg laughed again, and returned to his job of parting the crowd so they could slip back outside. Julia held up the bottles triumphantly.

“Just like high school,” Pierre said thoughtfully, “Only it was cheaper back then.”

“And my parents,” Julia added, “Cheers.”

The wine was passed around, and Tom commented that white wine was his favorite. Julia caught Greg’s eye and gave him an understanding look.

“You guys should come and see us if you’re ever in New York City,” Tom said, to Greg’s only slight surprise. He knew Tom had loosened up a bit in the past years but he wouldn’t have expected Tom to actually like his old high school friends this much, “We’d be happy to host you.”

“For sure,” Greg added, “It would be nice to keep in touch.”

***

“Did you like them?” Greg asked, when they finally got back to the hotel room. He was only slightly tipsy, and Tom laughed at him.

“Your friends? Yes. I think you had good taste in juvenile delinquents when you were one of them,” he kissed Greg softly, “Did they think I was stuffy?”

“I told Julia we used to fuck when you were married and like, that we committed a felony together. She thought it was cool.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tom shook his head and laughed, “At least somebody’s high school classmates liked me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this briefly broke my serious writer's block! i have literally no idea what might break it next!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for tolerating my nonsensical musings!


End file.
